


bittersweet lullabies

by WhereverMyWay



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Childhood Friends, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Language, Friends to Enemies, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Jealousy, M/M, Mentioned ATEEZ Ensemble, Mentioned Seo Changbin/Jung Wooyoung, Mentioned Stray Kids Ensemble, Mentioned TWICE Ensemble, Resentment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:33:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29253738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhereverMyWay/pseuds/WhereverMyWay
Summary: Several years ago, Bang Chan and Seo Changbin were best friends in middle school. They quickly became rivals in high school, starting not long after Changbin got the lead first chair for the viola section, something Chan had also been vying for. When Changbin became valedictorian, they got into a heated argument and Changbin swore he would never talk to Chan again.After university, they both received offers to work in the same symphonic orchestra. When they run into each other for the first time in four years, conflicting emotions bloom, tensions arise, and it all comes to an apex when Changbin storms off into the Seattle rain, and Chan can’t let him go, not after the guilt he had after all of these years.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Seo Changbin
Comments: 10
Kudos: 63
Collections: SKZ Seasons of Love





	bittersweet lullabies

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SKZ_Seasons_of_Love](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SKZ_Seasons_of_Love) collection. 



> > **Prompt: Person A gets stuck in the rain without an umbrella. Person B rescues him.**  
>  (Note: I promise the story gets to this prompt, it just takes a lot of build up because this idea just... came to me.)
> 
> Inspired by the viola duet "Lament" (1912), composed by Frank Bridge. A performance of this piece can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=moHLkWW_-TM).
> 
> * * *
> 
>  **Notice: this is a work of fiction.** The characters referenced from Stray Kids and any other groups are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind their idol personas. I also did research into a lot of this, but I may have gotten some things wrong, so please forgive me for any egregious errors!
> 
>  **Additional note:** The ages in this fic are not canon compliant. Minho is older than all of the other members, and I've kind of left the ages of most of them ambiguous, but they're all in their early- to mid-20s.

“I _earned_ this, Chan!” A voice shouted in a cold, empty hallway. “Do you understand how many sleepless nights I pulled to get here? The sacrifices I’ve made?” There was a loud clattering against metal lockers that echoed against the linoleum flooring and the bland drywall. Papers fell, scattering about the floor as the overhead lighting flickered, illuminating two young men dangerously close to one another.

A scoff came from the slightly taller, blonde man. “Do you think I didn’t work hard?” He slapped his hand against the metal locker behind the brunette man leaning up against them. “I tried so hard, had the same grades as you, the same SAT score, and yet you somehow got valedictorian? What’s your secret, Changbin?”

“Can you leave me alone, dude?” The smaller man gave the blonde a shove, and attempted to storm away, before he was tugged back by the wrist. “Come on, man, they could only pick one person for valedictorian. You still get a speech, now let me leave. I’ve got stuff to take care of.”

Chan, the blonde, shook his head, looking down to the floor. “You really think I only want a stupid fucking speech? I didn’t want to be salutatorian; I don’t want to play second fiddle to you for one more goddamned thing.” He looked back up to the brunette, Changbin, and his eyes were glistening and tinted red. “I just wanted this one thing, to be better than you at something for once. You got lead first chair for orchestra. You got lead tenor for All-State. You’ve always been better than me, and this just proves it and it _hurts.”_

The two of them exchanged a painful glance, but said nothing. Changbin tugged his arm away, glaring at the other man, pity hidden behind his stare. If this were some sort of coming-of-age, poorly-written Hollywood dramedy, this would be the part where they would make out against the lockers. He would ruffle his hands through Chan’s hair, tell him some cheesy line, like “fuck what everyone else thinks, I may be valedictorian, but you’re the top of the class in my heart”. 

However, this was real life. Nothing worked like the movies.

“What’s done is done, Chan,” the brunette sighed, rubbing his wrist. “Grow up and get over it. I’m tired of doing this shit with you every time I earn something and you throw a fucking fit and get jealous.” Changbin turned away, stepping on some of the discarded papers as he quickly walked away, down the corridor. “Don’t ever talk to me again,” he shouted, his voice firm and bouncing against the hard surfaces, echoing loudly in the emptiness.

Chan shook his head and let a tear slide down his face. “I miss the old us.” He remorsefully whispered to himself, dropping to his knees and collecting up the papers he dropped when he shoved the younger man into the lockers. He missed his former best friend, lamenting over how much he let his competitive nature ruin their friendship, the only friendship that really mattered to him.

♪

Four years after Chan and Changbin graduated high school, they still found themselves thinking about each other as they graduated from university. Changbin had somehow completed a bachelor’s degree _and_ a master’s degree in four years during his time at Yale, and Chan finally got his coveted valedictorian title at Dartmouth. They may have hated each other, not speaking at all in four years, but they were polite enough to give each other half-hearted congratulatory messages on social media for university graduation. 

Everyone did it, right? It was the thing to do for birthdays and graduations, like some unspoken rule. Perhaps it would bring them closer, start the path of building up the bridge back to friendship that they had burned years ago. It was unlikely, but he’d never know if he never tried.

Chan wondered how much Changbin had changed in the previous four years. He had typed up an apology that spanned several pages of text, had it saved in his message drafts for weeks, but never built up the courage to send it. The overwhelming guilt and shame for treating his former best friend so poorly would never allow him to send that message. 

Changbin appeared to be happy for once, losing himself in his studies and performances, happy and in love with his fiancé Jung Wooyoung, a classmate of theirs that also ended up at Yale. Everything seemed to be going well for him; Changbin had just accepted a job with some renowned symphonic orchestra that he was moving cross-country for.

Perhaps they would never mend, and this was fate telling Chan to move on.

♪

Changbin saw Chan’s polite “congrats, man” timeline post, and couldn’t help but scoff at how insincere it came off to him. He had stalked Chan’s profile for the entire four years they didn’t speak to each other, seeing some bad drunken frat party photos, reading interesting concepts he proposed about the transformational theories in music, and watched a couple of short-lived relationships bloom and subsequently fizzle out within only a couple of months. Chan was always chaotic, and Changbin kind of missed that unpredictable nature about him. Someday he’d reach out, he figured, but that day wasn’t today.

It had been a couple of months since graduation. Changbin had a stressful time planning a move cross-country that his now former fiancé didn’t support. Fuck it, he figured, a career with the symphonic orchestra in Seattle was worth it. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, something that was incredibly selective, that he was _invited_ to be a part of, and he deserved it. Wooyoung was halfway out of the door, anyway. They were always picture-perfect online, but Wooyoung stopped putting in any effort into the relationship well over a year ago, something about “focusing” on some technical project that he’d likely never complete. 

Wooyoung never completed anything, and when Changbin broke off their engagement, the younger man simply shrugged it off.

It didn’t matter. Out with the old, in with the new. Whatever it took to convince Changbin to stay sane, to feel like he hadn’t wasted three years on someone not worth his time. He didn’t resent Wooyoung, but their relationship felt like it was lacking from beginning to end. Maybe he would find someone that would light a spark within him on the other side of the continent.

From the week he spent in Seattle during his interview and audition, Changbin deemed that Seattle was far superior to Connecticut, anyways: something about its dreamy, rainy, “chronically sipping lukewarm earl grey tea while listening to chill synthwave” vibe excited him. It was something completely different than what he was used to, and it was going to be drastically different than the uptight nature that the east coast gave off.

Connecticut was vivacissimo. Seattle was andante _._ It was time for something calming and slow paced for once in his life.

It only took Changbin an hour to bring in everything from his car and settle into his new apartment. The human resources team was kind enough to help him find a cozy, furnished apartment that was a short walk away from work. It was nestled in the bustling Capitol Hill neighbourhood, and he knew he was going to love sitting inside and watching people scurry about from his third-floor balcony. He had a few days to settle in before he would show up for orientation, and he couldn’t wait to explore the area.

For now, though, he would unpack a bit, then sleep. A week and a half of driving cross-country, while beautiful, was exhausting. Three thousand miles. Constant playlist shuffling. Talk radio while driving through Illinois and Wisconsin to hear asinine political commentary. Getting carsick and vomiting where I-90 met I-35 in Minnesota. Nearly breaking down close to Mount Rushmore in South Dakota. Almost hitting a coyote in Montana. Seeing the sunrise as he drove over a mountain pass as he approached the Idaho state border. The thrill of finally approaching Seattle and getting lost as he made a wrong turn, somehow ending up in Tacoma. It was an adventurous trip, but it sapped the life from him.

There was one thing, however, he could rely upon to restore his drained energy: his viola.

He took his prized, cherished viola out of its well-maintained case, running his thumb over the chip under his chin rest, and Changbin felt like he could finally breathe a sigh of relief. This viola got him through so many hard times in life, keeping him grounded and sane regardless of how hectic his schedule was from the last half of high school and all throughout university. If he was stressed, he would simply take the viola out of its case and let something flow from him.

As he brought the viola up to his chin, strategically placing his fingers at the end of his bow, he looked out the window taking in the view of the sunset, and aimlessly started playing something. It somehow slowly blended into his part from _Lament_ , which was a duet that he and Chan had performed their junior year of high school. 

Perhaps it was because Chan had been invading his thoughts lately, but his improvised practices always turned into _Lament_. It was a beautiful duet; they had won first place at the state competition for it, earning a perfect score, which was something that was incredibly rare; it helped them pad their resumes to get into Ivy League universities. They practiced for months, starting the summer before their junior year, because they wanted to actually take home an award for it. “We’ll show them,” Chan arrogantly smirked as he puffed out his chest. “We’re better than just some deeper violins stuck in the middle of the orchestra. That’ll teach them all for making fun of us.”

Changbin remembered being nervous about it. The sweat beading on his palms as they waited in the wings of the stage prior to their performance, the pounding of his heart against his ribcage, the sound of the blood rushing between his ears. He was so nervous that he would trip, or he would drop his viola, maybe that everything would go impossibly wrong. However, the minute he and Chan looked at each other as they prepared to start their duet, a sense of calm overtook him, and he lost himself within the music. 

Somehow, they managed to make it through the entire performance without faltering. As soon as they were hidden behind the black curtains of the stage, Chan gave Changbin the closest, warmest hug he had ever received in his life. 

“I told you we’d do it, man!” Chan excitedly whispered into Changbin’s ear. “You fucking killed it!”

“You did really well, too,” Changbin had shyly whispered back, offering a couple of nervous pats in between Chan’s shoulder blades. He remembered feeling lucky that the backstage area was so dark, because it was very obviously apparent that he was blushing.

He pulled himself from the memory, unable to finish playing his part from the duet, the notes sounding correct, yet feeling dissonant in his heart as he played. His shoulders drooped as he stared off into the skyscrapers far off in the distance. Sure, the relationship he had with Wooyoung was tumultuous, but Changbin wasn’t entirely innocent, either, often daydreaming about Chan during the most inopportune times. 

When Wooyoung would dance his fingers against Changbin’s bare flesh in the darkness of their room, he was guilty of letting his mind wander to the what-ifs: what if Chan were there? Would Chan nip at Changbin’s neck with the same passion? How warm would Chan’s breath feel against his earlobe as his teeth dug into the tender flesh? Would he take Changbin in his arms and pepper his skin with soft kisses and haphazard ‘I love you’s as they tangled themselves up in each other? 

It was insufferably suffocating, being weighed down by the ghosts of his past as he tried to move forward with his life.

For a long time, Changbin was infatuated with Chan. Starting in seventh grade, he wanted to spend time with only Chan; they would spend their weekends and summer vacations together, text each other until they fell asleep, and they were a part of all of the same extracurricular activities. To most people, all the way up until their junior year, they were essentially brothers that weren’t related by blood. 

Nobody could have been closer than them.

One night, not long after they received the results that they had gotten a perfect score on their duet, Chan invited Changbin to a party at their friend’s house. Changbin, being the shy introvert that he was, would have said no otherwise, but he couldn’t bring himself to say no to Chan. There was nothing special or memorable about the house party itself, not until they both drunkenly stumbled into an empty bed together.

They had slept next to each other several times, but this was different. Changbin wrapped his arm around Chan’s chest, tucking his head underneath the elder’s chin, letting himself get lost in the warmth of their embrace. The alcohol convinced him it was a great time to be honest — perhaps a bit _too_ honest.

“Chan,” Changbin had slurred out in a near-whisper. “Can I, uh, tell you something?”

“What’s up, dude?” Chan responded, sleepily rubbing his eyes.

Changbin took in a deep breath, and sat up, staring down at Chan in the dark. “I think…” his voice trailed off and he swallowed audibly, “I think I kinda like you?” 

Chan just laughed, patting Changbin’s thigh. “I like you too, dude. It’s why we’re friends.”

“Nah,” the brunette huffed, smelling the stale, cheap beer on his breath and shuddering as he shook his head. “Not like that.” 

“What do you mean, then?”

“Like,” a moment passed and Changbin recoiled into himself. “I _like_ you, dude. I wanna take this to the next level. I dunno, man, this shit’s awkward and hard to admit.”

The two of them sat in silence for a while, until Chan sat up and leaned in close to Changbin. “Bin,” he sighed, firmly gripping his junior’s thigh, “I like you, too, but I don’t know. We could, like, seriously fuck up our friendship. I mean, you saw what Seonghwa did to Hongjoong when they went from friends to boyfriends.” He hiccupped and awkwardly chuckled to ease the tension blooming between them. “I don’t wanna ruin what we’ve got, since we’re basically brothers and shit.”

Changbin shook his head. It really _was_ stupid, after all. The alcohol, however, gave him confidence that he didn’t ask for and didn’t need right now. He batted his eyelashes and brought his face in, up close to Chan. “Can I at least kiss you to see how it feels?”

Chan giggled, likely out of nervousness and drunkenness. “I mean, I don’t see why not. But neither you nor I have kissed anyone, ’s probably gonna be weird.”

“I don’t care.” The words left Changbin’s lips as he boldly reached up to Chan’s neck, pulling them closer to each other. It was awkward, painfully obvious that they really didn’t know what they were doing. Their lips were a little too dry for it to feel as magical as Changbin expected. Still, they continued; a tiny spark igniting between the two of them. It may have been awkward, but it didn’t feel _wrong._

Chan brought his hand up to Changbin’s soft, brown hair, letting his fingers grip the strands gently. He brought his other hand up to the small of the brunette’s back, pulling him in. They couldn’t quite figure out which side their noses should be on, and when they opened their mouths to let their tongues adventure around, they clashed their teeth together one too many times, causing pain to echo throughout their heads.

Regardless of the awkward nature of their kiss, it was perfect for them. It felt like they kissed each other for hours, eventually rolling around the sheets, fingers skirting around on warm, flushed skin. Changbin didn’t even remember falling asleep, just the comfort of losing himself in Chan’s touch.

The next morning, however, was far from perfect. They were both grossly hungover, and Chan was oddly distant. “I dunno, dude,” he had sleepily grumbled, avoiding looking at Changbin at all, “I still don’t know if this is right.”

Chan was going to say more, but Changbin waved him off in a panic with feigned confidence. “Nah, dude, it was just us being drunk.” He let out a nervous laugh. “Sorry for being weird, I guess I was just a little too curious to have a kiss. Shame our first kisses were while we were drunk, huh?”

“Yeah,” Chan awkwardly smiled, “little weird, but whatever.”

Unsurprisingly, they started having problems not long after that. Chan had started getting irritated with Changbin putting more and more focus into his studies, starting to surpass him academically. Then, Changbin got first chair for the violas in orchestra. He beat out two seniors, and Chan was right behind him. Chan was _always_ right behind him in everything. They were so close, they were like minor seconds in a chord: just two notes right next to each other that sounded uncomfortably dissonant when played together.

When Changbin got stressed, he focused. Conversely, when Chan stressed, he brooded.

“Come on, man,” Chan had whined right after practice one day, “you and I both got that perfect score on our duet. How’d you get lead first chair over me?”

The annoyance of Chan’s constant negative behaviour was draining on Changbin, causing the younger man to grow more and more irritated by the second. “I don’t fucking know, okay?” He snapped while opening his viola’s case. “Someone had to get it, and it was me. Stop taking out your shit on me, man, it’s exhausting.”

Chan frowned in response. “I’m not taking it out on you,” he huffed, “you’re just getting a lot of good shit lately, and it’s not fair.”

“You should have fucking tried harder, then!” Changbin shouted, taking a step towards Chan, clutching the neck of his viola tightly. “You know what’s not fair? What’s not fair is the fact that you’re being a broody sack of shit at me because you’re just not practicing as hard or studying as hard and that’s not my goddamned fault! You need to grow the fuck up, dude.”

Chan scowled and shoved Changbin back in anger, harder than he anticipated. He didn’t expect it to be such a rough shove, but Changbin didn’t always have a good sense of balance. The younger man tumbled backwards, and his viola hit the ground with a thud, a discordant twang coming from the delicate instrument and echoing throughout the room.

The silence that followed the scuffle was deafening. Chan tried to apologize, knowing just how important Changbin’s viola was to him, but he just incoherently sputtered and panicked. Changbin stared up at Chan in horror, blinking away tears that were budding up in his eyelids. 

“How could you?” 

It was the last thing that Changbin said to Chan for months. 

♪

The memories flooding up in Changbin’s head caused a gnawing pain to bloom within his stomach as he stared out the window, the sky now a deep shade of indigo. He sighed, then put his viola back into its case. He thought playing it would make him happy, more comfortable in his new apartment in a new town, but it just made him feel cold and alone. It felt like there was nothing but dissonant chords reverberating inside of him. 

Changbin stared down at his viola, hesitating to close the case. The chip from the day it collided against the ground was still there, glaringly obvious as the memory burned itself into his head. He recalled that the musician that repaired his viola offered to fix it up, even though it was just a surface blemish and wouldn’t cause any musical problems. “No,” Changbin had told the man, “it’s right under the chin rest, so I’ll see it every time I go to play it. It’ll remind me to be more cautious.”

Cautious of his instrument, that’s probably what it sounded like to the musician. What Changbin really meant, however, was how he’d be cautious of letting anyone close to him in the future, no matter who it was.

Uncertainty rushed over him, but Changbin was certain of one thing: he needed to get Chan out of his head. Sooner, rather than later. He couldn’t afford to be distracted when he started with the symphony.

Maybe he’d be alone forever.

♪

Monday came quickly, and Changbin was running early. He had left far too early, showing up nearly an hour before he needed to be at the practice hall. He shrugged the nervousness from his shoulders as he made his way to a nearby cafe to grab something caffeinated to help perk him up. Seven in the morning was far too early for his schedule after all of this time off from university.

It was a brief walk, maybe only a couple of minutes to the cafe down the street. Changbin opened the door, inanely scrolling through his emails as he walked through the front door and got in line. There was one email from the conductor, Lee Minho, sent out to everyone earlier that morning, welcoming the new members of the orchestra. Names, ages, instruments, and where they were from.

“What can I get for you?” The barista at the counter politely asked, causing Changbin to look up from his phone, his face flushing in embarrassment. 

“Oh, sorry,” he whispered, locking his phone, sliding it into his pocket. “I’ll take a shot in the dark, medium, three shots, please.”

“Your name?”

“Changbin.” He was curious to see how terribly the barista would butcher his name as he tapped his card against the payment terminal. A minute later, he stepped off to the side, grabbing his phone to scroll through the email again. Since he was early, he might as well try and learn who was who and where they sat, what they played. 

The wind and brass instruments were first. A new French horn player, a new trombonist, a new bassoonist, a new flautist. He was about to scroll through the percussion and string players when the second barista mumbled something that sounded kind of like his name. He walked up and grabbed the paper cup that was placed on the countertop, eyeing the scribble on the cup that barely resembled his name, rolling his eyes at the attempt.

Changbin took a cautious sip of the hot liquid as he made his way towards the front of the cafe, taking a seat at the window bar, placing his viola case down on the ground and his cup on the table, looking through his email. He didn’t care about the percussion section, but when he got to the strings, he perked up a bit. Two new violinists, two new violists, and a new cellist. 

There was another new violist along with him, and Changbin bit his lip in excitement. He wondered who they were, where they were from. Then he saw the name, right under his. He stopped tapping his toes in excitement and his jaw dropped. If he was holding his coffee cup, he would have dropped it in shock.

_Viola: Changbin S., 22, Connecticut. B.A., M.M., Music: Yale University._

_Viola: Chan B., 23, New Hampshire. B.A., Music Performance: Dartmouth University._

“Holy shit,” Changbin whispered as all of the colour drained from his face. He had to have been hallucinating. There was no way that Chan was actually in Seattle. There had to have been another Chan from Dartmouth that was coming all the way here, right? That it wasn't just some crazy fever dream that Changbin was having?

He sat and stared at the email on his phone until the screen automatically turned off from inactivity. If Chan was seriously going to be in the symphonic orchestra with him, right next to him, what was he going to do? The two of them hadn't said anything more than polite passing phrases over their birthdays or for their graduations over social media, for fuck's sake. What the hell was going to happen when — no, _if,_ it had to stay as an _if_ — the two of them met?

The soft bell of the front door opening made Changbin shake his head, crashing back to reality. He turned his phone over, putting it down on the counter so he didn't have to look at it, and brought his cup back up to his lips. The coffee in the cup was nice, a bit more mellow and mild compared to the coffee he was used to on the east coast, like this was brewed with care and love, not in a hurry for someone just trying to get their fix. 

“That's the third symphony,” a quiet voice came up behind Changbin, his ears twitching a bit as he heard something related to music. Perhaps this person was another musician, part of the orchestra? Letting his curiosity get the better of him, he turned his head over his shoulder and actually dropped his cup, spilling the warm liquid all over the table and into his lap. In a rush, he grabbed his phone as he stood and let out a crisp, sharp interjection. 

As the coffee cooled in his lap and the barista from earlier approached him with a towel, his brain caught up to the realization that his former best friend-turned-rival, Chan, was right behind him. Before he could fully process what that meant, Changbin found himself madly dashing back to his apartment, phone in one hand, viola case in the other. Reality hit him in the face and burned as much as his scorched legs as he collided into the door of his apartment.

This wasn't a dream.

♪

Changbin was thankful that he was always early to things. After rushing to apply some burn cream to his legs and change into a fresh outfit, he had somehow made it back to the concert hall with fifteen minutes to spare. He gripped the handle to his viola's case tightly, palms sweating as he tried so hard not to panic. Beyond the doors of the practice hall, he knew that Chan was going to be there. Nothing he did could prepare him for that, and he knew it.

He took in a deep breath, and let off a quick exhale as he pushed the door open. The crowd of other players was massive — there had to be nearly a hundred people crowded up in small circles. The newer people were very obvious, awkwardly off to the side in their respective sections. Some people were off in random seats, tuning their instruments. Then, in the middle of the room, he saw someone seated, alone, anxiously scrolling through his phone. It was the same brassy blonde that was in the cafe.

Chan.

Almost as if the energy in the room cooled as Changbin entered, Chan shifted in his seat and aimlessly scanned the room, looking at the other members, until his eyes landed on Changbin, and his lips parted. They stared at each other, seemingly like they were frozen in space and time, that there was no one else around. A conflicting rush of warmth, excitement, and terror washed over Changbin all at once as he stared at his former best friend.

Changbin shook his head, letting his eyes fall to the floor for a moment. “This is going to be fine,” he quietly reassured himself as he walked towards the middle of the room. “You two don't have to look at each other, speak to each other, just be civil. If you're lucky, you won't even have to interact much. Hopefully.”

That was a boldfaced lie, but it helped reassure Changbin in the slightest way possible.

“Hi,” Chan awkwardly whispered as Changbin got close. “Long time, no see, huh?”

He simply couldn't resist looking up at Chan and somehow wrinkling his face up into an uncomfortable grin. “Hi, Chan.” His tone was a bit cold, but what else could he do? They left each other on horrible terms, not even speaking to each other during their high school graduation ceremony. Changbin had given his valedictorian speech, and remembered Chan walking up to the podium, giving him a pitiful expression as they crossed paths.

“Looks like your assigned seat is right next to me.” There's a tapping noise as Chan's fingernail repeatedly strikes the plastic seat next to him. A large, black binder sat atop the chair, with "Changbin S., Viola’ emblazoned on the top of it in silver, serif lettering. 

Fate was a cruel bastard.

Changbin stifled a sigh under his breath, placing his viola's case underneath the chair as he grabbed the binder. He sat down in his seat, pretending to rifle through the paperwork. There was simply no way that he could focus, knowing that Chan was right next to him. It was completely awkward and uncomfortable. Changbin could practically feel the warmth of the blonde sitting next to him, even though they were about a foot away from each other.

“We're gonna pretend like all that time together never happened, huh?” Chan's voice was cold, and he tsked as he brought his phone back up to his face. “I really thought four years would've changed you, Bin.”

Changbin slammed the binder shut and leaned into Chan's face. His eyes darted around, knowing that he was getting some strange glances from people that weren't preoccupied, but it didn't matter. “You're the one that refused to grow up and handle things responsibly like an adult. I don't want to hear another fucking passive aggressive word about this from you.” His tone was hushed, but venomous and seething. “You had all this time to apologize, but you never did. I _sincerely_ hope we don't have to interact much, because this two year contract is going to be hell on me if you're here.”

Chan scoffed. “Whatever, dude,” he shook his head and looked back to his phone. “I just wanted to try and be civil, but if you wanna play that game, then you can. Go right ahead.”

This was outrageous. Changbin opened his mouth to say something, but a man with a calm demeanour walked into the room, his presence demanding attention from everyone as they scattered to their seats. 

“Good morning, everyone,” his voice boomed throughout the corridor. It was soft, inviting. “Welcome to your first day of the season. If you would kindly find your seats, we'll get started in a few moments.”

Changbin awkwardly fumbled with his binder, resting it on the music stand in front of him, then bent down to pick up his viola's case. He undid the latches, and pulled out the instrument, his eyes fixated on that damned chip under the chin rest. Naturally, after he stared at the chip for longer than necessary, he lifted his eyes up to Chan, who was rubbing his bow against the brick of resin in his hand.

Chan was always delicate with his instrument. He put in so much love when he polished his viola prior to competitions and performances, always lovingly eyed the hairs of his bow as he carefully watched the resin coat each strand. Typically, he would hum some inane melody to himself as he got lost in the process, in the care of what he did.

Today, Chan wasn't humming.

It felt like the energy around him had gone from its usual bright cheerfulness, and turned into a dark, gloomy cloud.

“Please,” the instructor spoke yet again, looking up from his stack of paperwork on the podium, “if you haven't done so, begin tuning your instruments. Hopefully they're all tuned up, but I'm sure some of you have been slacking since we last practiced together, hmm?”

Changbin didn't need to tune his viola, since he tuned it last night in anticipation, but he went along and pretended to tune it with his plastic electric tuner. The light shone green as he kept strumming against the C string. Changbin tried to stare at the light, but he couldn't take his eyes off of Chan. While he wasn't humming, the elder still put in so much tender energy while he cared for his viola.

It had been all this time, but Changbin still felt his abdomen and chest light up with fire when he saw Chan, no matter how much it hurt. It was apparent that Changbin was still so madly in love with him, even after all of these years and all of the emotional torment they had put each other through.

This man was going to be the death of him.

♪

The beginning of the first day with the symphony wasn't eventful. There were some warm-ups and some scales practice, but that was simply to get everyone prepared for the performance season. After all of that, the conductor, Minho, went through each section and asked the new members to introduce themselves. Percussion went first, then woodwinds, brass, strings. Second-to-last was the viola group, and Chan went first.

“Chan,” he said with a smile, his dimple prominently on display, “I'm 23, originally from New York, but I've been in New Hampshire for the past four years thanks to university. I recently graduated, with honours, top of my class, from the music performance faculty at Dartmouth. I hope we all get along well and you'll treat me kindly. Let's have a great season!” He sat down, and his smile faded as Changbin rose.

“Yeah, uh, hello,” Changbin awkwardly stuttered, folding his hands together behind his back. “I'm Changbin, 22, also originally from New York, but I've been in Connecticut for the last four years where I matriculated at Yale. I have a bachelor's and master's in music, specifically: music performance for viola and piano. I've been playing the viola for most of my life, and I hope I will serve everyone well here. Uh,” he paused, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. “Thanks.”

There were a couple of polite chuckles as Changbin sat down. Despite having a penchant for giving well-manicured speeches, he hated giving unprepared introductions. He felt tense enough already, knowing that Chan was right next to him, making him all the more uncomfortable.

The new violinists introduced themselves, and Minho clapped once. “Excellent,” he praised. “Now that introductions are out of the way, please split off into your respective subsections until I'm able to get to each individual group and assess your skills for placements. Those of you that have finished by your lunch break are welcome to leave, unless your principal seat deems otherwise.”

A couple of musicians groaned.

“It's nearly autumn,” Minho said with a soft smile as he adjusted his necktie, “you all know that placement seats, other than principal seats, aren't guaranteed.”

Changbin nervously swallowed. He knew that placements were, yet again, going to be a source of contention for both of them. Chan was top of his class at Dartmouth; Changbin was top of his class at Yale. Both of them were going to be a force to be reckoned with, especially up against other top-class talent. 

This orchestra recorded for multiple high-budget films and would perform in the pits of renowned theatrical performances. There were just over a hundred seats in the orchestra, but thousands applied for open spots after contracts ended and spots opened up. It was nerve-wracking, and Changbin wasn't confident that he, for the first time since high school, would be placed in one of the first viola chairs.

“Hey,” a voice perked up as everyone started to shift around and break off into their own groups. “I'm Seungmin,” a young man stood in front of Chan and Changbin, probably about the same age as them. “I'm the principal chair for the viola section. Changbin and Chan, right?” Both of them silently nodded once in affirmation. “Nice, Ivy Leaguers like me. Cornell, graduated last year. Anyway, don't worry too much about placements. Not much you can do until you actually have to perform, and Minho is pretty great about making you feel comfortable if you're nervous. Why not come meet everyone in the section?”

There were polite greetings and less-formal introductions shared, a couple of people made jokes to ease the tension, as to be expected. Seungmin discussed the projected schedule for the season, going over some of the pieces that they would need to practice together and individually. They went over all of the general housekeeping, discussed the placement procedures, and that they were free to go after they were done, since there was no real point in sticking around for the rest of the day.

“Alright, well,” Seungmin stood up as his alarm went off, “lunch starts now, so I'm gonna head off. See ya in an hour; just meet up here and don't be late. For strings, the violin section goes first, then us.”

Changbin looked down to the floor, an uneasy pit growing in his stomach. Part of him knew he should stay and practice, just to get his mind in the right order, but he couldn't pull himself away from the fact that Chan was still there, right next to him. 

“Get up,” Chan muttered, lightly tapping Changbin's chair with his foot, startling the brunette to attention. “Look, dude,” he tucked his hands into his pockets and huffed with discontent, “I know we haven't spoken in years, but there's some things I wanna talk to you about before we go in and compete against each other for yet another stupid thing. Come grab lunch with me, alright?”

“I'm not hungry.” Changbin's eyes darted to the side, furrowing his brows in frustration. He just wanted to focus on practicing his piece for placements; there was no time to worry about eating at a time like this.

“No,” an exasperated sigh came from Chan as he folded his arms and rolled his eyes. “You're just nervous and you don't wanna talk to me. Unless you've drastically changed, you do this shit before performances, too. Just come on, it's not gonna be that bad, I promise.”

♪

Changbin wasn't sure why he agreed to this. The two of them sat at a table in the hipster pho shop next to the cafe, awkwardly poking at their warm bowls of noodles and broth as they sat in silence for at least a good five minutes. “So,” the younger man sighed, “what did you want to talk about?”

The blonde sucked his lips in between his teeth and chewed on them for a second before he set his chopsticks down into the bowl and looked up, meeting Changbin's gaze with a hint of nervousness behind his eyes. “Changbin,” he huffed, tilting his head to the side, “all those years ago, I was horrible to you.”

“I know.” The brunette abruptly cut him off, seething through his teeth while he sat back in his chair.

“Bin,” the older man shook his head, his eyes wincing with pain, “dude, I had this big ass draft saved in my messages that I wanted to send to you after we graduated.” He brought an elbow to the table and nestled his head into his palm. “For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to ever send it. I don't know why; it was probably out of embarrassment and cowardice. The way I treated you all that time, over some stupid competitive shit, I'm sorry, Changbin. Honestly, I'm so sorry.”

A tsk left Changbin's lips as he rolled his eyes away, looking at the wall to his side, just for a moment. He leaned in, pressing his arm into the table, mere inches away from Chan. “Yeah, you did a lot of shit, and yeah, I know you’re sorry or whatever. But you know what hurts me the most, Chan?”

Chan nervously swallowed and bit his lip.

“You did all of this shit to me _after_ I kissed you. None of this started until then.” Changbin shook his head in disappointment. “I'm not upset about the way you reacted, not really, at least, but I _am_ upset over the fact that you kissed me back so hard, like you actually wanted me as more than a friend. After all that, you started treating me so horribly, like you had to prove that you were better than me. Like our years of friendship suddenly didn’t matter anymore.”

“Changbin, I just couldn’t—” Chan started, but Changbin sat back and shook his head, speaking up and cutting off the blonde.

“You _hurt_ me.” There were tears budding up in the brunette's eyes. “It's taken you four and a half years to apologize. Chan, I’ve waited for fucking _years_ for this. I wish you would have sent me some bullshit, half-assed stupid text message apology that summer. It would have hurt less than this. All of this time, I thought you hated me. That my best friend wanted nothing to do with me. Nothing else hurts more than that, to have your favourite person in the entire world suddenly hate you, and it’s all because you thought he had feelings for you, too, but he just threw them back in your face and laughed at your pain.”

Changbin stood up and grabbed his phone from off of the table. “I'm not ready to forgive you, Chan. Not after all of this shit. So, please,” a couple of tears rolled down his face as he bit his bottom lip, “just respect me enough to leave me alone for a little while. I need to think about this, about us.”

He stormed off before Chan could attempt to stop him. An overwhelming fear of nervousness took over: partially due to the unsteady ground their relationship was on, and partially due to the fact that his placement exam was going to take place soon, and Changbin was nowhere near the right mental capacity for that.

“Shouldn’t have done this,” Changbin whispered to himself as he wiped the tears from his face, his footsteps hard and heavy against the concrete sidewalk. “Fuck you, Chan.”

♪

 _“Capriccio,”_ Minho smiled, his face relaxed and expression warm. He held his clipboard in hand as Changbin eyed the sheets of music in front of him. “Composed by Vieuxtemps. I picked this as the sight reading for today’s placement exams.” The conductor was welcoming enough, but his calm demeanour didn’t ease the nervousness vibrating throughout Changbin’s body.

 _All those years ago, I was horrible to you._ Chan’s apology still sounded so clear in his head, Changbin constantly replaying the memory unwillingly as the notes on the sheet music danced around, tangling itself up into an unintelligible mess.

“Changbin?”

 _I’m so sorry, Changbin._ He was so angry: at Chan, at himself, at the fact that he ran away, that he couldn’t concentrate on the important task at hand in front of him.

“Hey,” Minho’s voice was layered with concern as it pulled Changbin from his thoughts. “Are you feeling alright? It’s just a standard placement exam, nothing to be too nervous over.”

Changbin stood in the empty office, viola carefully cradled in his hands as he blinked his way back into focus, the sheet music suddenly becoming clear and normal. “Sorry,” he shook his head, trying to rid Chan’s voice from the depths of his ears, “I guess I’m just nervous.” _Capriccio._ It was a piece Changbin had heard, but he had never played it before, as to be expected for sight reading, but the anxiousness in his stomach blossomed like a large black lily of doubt, poking its petals at his ribcage. “How long do I have to look at this?”

“I’ll give you two minutes to look over it,” Minho leaned against the back of his chair and rubbed his chin with his thumb. “Once you’re ready to start playing, I’ll take notes. We’ll do the scales exercise before that, as well as a piece of your choosing. Are you sure you’re ready, Changbin?”

“I’ll be fine,” Changbin huffed, trying to calm the nerves inside of him as he readied his viola. He had to be fine, he had to beat out Chan with this. “Let’s do the scales, then.”

Changbin kept telling himself that had to beat Chan, but he didn’t know exactly why.

♪

“Hey, man!” Seungmin said with excitement as he patted Changbin on the back, right outside of the practice room. “How'd it go?”

Changbin groaned and rolled his eyes, gripping the neck of his viola a bit tighter. “It was alright,” he grumbled, walking to where his case laid on his chair. Chan had gone before him, and was deliberately looking away from Changbin as he approached. As soon as he started shuffling with his case, Chan got up with an exasperated sigh and walked away. 

“Are you two,” Seungmin pressed, lowering his voice as he approached Changbin, “do you know each other or something? I'm getting some weird vibes from you both.”

The brunette gritted his teeth as his bottom eyelid twitched. “We were classmates, yeah,” he admits, “back in high school.”

“Oh! That's exciting!” 

“No,” Changbin sighed, “I wish it was more interesting than that, but we stopped talking after we both got into different universities”. It wasn't a complete lie, yet it wasn't a complete truth, either. Changbin quickly weighed the options of being honest with Seungmin about how strained their relationship was, and chose to just fake it for the greater morale of the group. They were both too new to start something so petty so early on in the season.

Seungmin grinned as Changbin turned around. “Well, hey,” he bopped his head back and forth to the side, humming a bit, “it's kinda cool when you've got people that know each other and work well together in the same group. Maybe the violas will be a bit stronger this year.”

“We'll see,” Changbin said with a fake smile. Whether he was talking about the group or about his relationship with Chan was uncertain.

♪

It was nearly a full day until placement results were revealed. Both Changbin and Chan got first chair, but they were at the bottom of five. What stung the most, however, was that Chan had beaten Changbin, likely due to nerves. 

Changbin was at the bottom of something for the first time in his life, and he didn't know how to handle the whirlwind of emotions raging inside of him. 

“Sorry,” Chan whispered as they both stared at the sheet. “At least we're both first chairs, not second, though, yeah?”

He shouldn't have been upset, because these were some of the best performers in the entire country, but Changbin was _seething_. Fists clenched, teeth gritting, and he was sweating with how infuriated he was at being in the bottom for the first time. Ever. Seos were never anything but first, and this was going to eat at him from the inside out for a long time, especially since he was beaten out by Chan of all people.

“Hey, guys,” Seungmin leaned up against the wall, causing them both to break their gaze at the sheet of paper for a moment. “Congratulations on getting first chairs during your first contract year. Not many people get that.”

Changbin didn't care if “many people” got first chair or not, he was still fixated on the fact that he got beaten out by Chan. He wanted the assistant principal seat, but wasn’t even remotely close to it. So, he determined he’d have to work harder, to set his eyes on the principal seat when placements opened. This step backwards could cost him that opportunity when it came up in the spring, and he hated it. 

Chan elbowed Changbin in the side, causing the brunette to snap back to reality. 

“What?” The younger man bit back, viscerally reacting as his eyes widened and he bared his teeth. He wanted so desperately to throw Chan up against the wall and yell at him for distracting him right before his placement exam, when he knew he should have just stayed back and practiced. Chan broke his routine and all Changbin could think about during the exam was how angry he was at his former best friend.

“Chill out,” Chan sighed, eyes widening for a brief moment in shock. “Seungmin just asked if the two of us had any plans after practice.”

Seungmin shook his head. “It's cool if you do,” he smiled awkwardly, sensing the tension blooming around them, “a bunch of us, including most of the newbies, are all going out to Vivace. It’s that little bar down the street. Could be a good chance for everyone to get to know each other a bit better. Seems like you two have a head start on that, but now it's time for _us_ to get to know _you.”_

His voice was sickeningly optimistic. Changbin gritted his teeth together under pursed lips and was about to decline, until Chan spoke up for both of them. “Yeah,” he said in a fake pleasant voice, “Changbin and I are down for that.”

“Don't speak for me,” Changbin said through his teeth, but Chan turned to look at him and frowned. 

“Team morale. Be a good player, dude.”

♪

Brooding. Failure. Fucking _failure._

Changbin never was one to brood, but he was never one to fail, either. Today was a day of firsts, none of them good. He frowned as he leaned over his glass of warmed cognac, staring down into it in disgust at his reflection. The entire group was bonding with each other, smiling and laughing without a care in the world, and he was being the awkward loner in the corner again, silent and reserved.

“That didn't seriously happen,” a young man with short platinum blonde hair drunkenly giggled. Felix, probably. That's the name that Changbin thought he heard him mention when they all introduced themselves. He was the new French horn player. “Hyunjin, dude, you've gotta stop it with picking up random people in clubs.”

“It's Cap Hill, baby,” the man with long, black hair half-heartedly whined, martini against his lips. Hyunjin. Second chair cellist. “Sometimes you see someone hot, and you just gotta take them home, y’know? Of course you don’t, you’re too prudish to get fucking laid.”

A laugh bubbled up from the group, but both Chan and Changbin were staying relatively quiet. “Hey,” Chan said in a low voice, leaning against the table that Changbin was resting his elbows on. “You should come participate with everyone.”

“Why?” Changbin rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Nobody here really cares about each other. It's all polite bullshit anyways.”

“Seriously, would you just fucking stop with this mopey shit, dude?” Chan tried to keep his voice down, setting his pint of stout on the table. “Come on, you're not a kid anymore.”

Changbin tilted his head back and sighed. “I never lose, man,” he brought his head back upright, staring down Chan as the alcohol loosened his lips. “You know I've never come in second, much less last, for anything. Let me just be down for once.”

As Chan opened his mouth to retort, another short, young man came up to the table. Jisung, the lead second chair violinist slammed his lager on the table with a wide grin. “What’s up, newbies? We're doing shots. Team bonding, yeah?”

Changbin's lip curled up in disgust, already annoyed by how chipper the other man was. “I don't do shots,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jisung dismissively waved his hand in the air and scoffed. “We get it, you’re pretentious and better than us or whatever. You're doing a shot with us anyways, a'ight? If you're drinking, it ain't optional.”

Seungmin, Felix, and a quiet brunette carried a few small glasses of amber liquid, setting the tiny shot glasses down on the table. “I don't know why you recommended Fireball for this, dude,” Hyunjin grumbled as he shook his head, taking a shot glass from the table and stepping right behind Jisung.

“It's good!” The smaller black-haired man shouted with a wide smile. “I've met nobody that doesn't like this stuff.”

“I hate it,” Changbin grumbled in protest, vaguely recalling memories of getting hammered on the foul liquid during a house party his sophomore year of college. A layer of regret gripped at his ribcage, thinking of the way Wooyoung’s boozy breath lingered on his lips as they made out on the patio of some stranger’s house. The regret clawed at him while he recalled how he looked up at the stars and wished that it was Chan there instead of Wooyoung. “I hate it a lot,” he repeated, unsure if he was still talking about the liquor or if he was talking about the memory creeping into his head.

His quip earned him a finger in the face from the loud young man, pulling him from his lamenting. “Not tonight, you don't. You can hate it after our fifth shot of it. Hate it tomorrow morning. Yeah?”

Everyone grabbed a shot glass, several reaching out in reluctance, and Seungmin puffed his chest out. “Alright,” he proudly said with a triumphant grin, holding his glass in the air, “we're gonna have a great year. Newbies and violists may be outcasts, but we're all a family. Yeah?”

The group let out an affirmative, albeit jumbled, noise.

“On three,” Jisung said with a smirk, then counted to three. All of the men lifted their glasses to their lips and chugged down the cloyingly sweet and uncomfortably spicy cinnamon-flavoured liquor.

“Oh, that's horrid,” Changbin shuddered, nearly dropping the shot glass as he recoiled. Chan nodded his head as he hissed, while Seungmin and Felix scrunched their faces in discomfort.

“You're disgusting, Ji. Let's get more!” The brunette from earlier perked up, the first time Changbin caught him speaking during the gathering. “It's not a good night unless someone pukes before we leave, yeah?”

Jisung slapped his hand on the table and collected the empty glasses from everyone. “Hell yeah, Jeongin, that's my dude!”

♪

It wasn’t until the cool, late summer breeze hit Changbin as he stumbled outside that he realized that that fifth shot of Fireball that Jisung convinced everyone to take was, in fact, not a good idea. He groaned to himself as the cool air gradually revitalized him. “That shit was horrible.”

“Yeah,” Chan's aching voice slurred up from behind him. “You gonna be good getting home, Bin?”

Changbin wouldn't have responded if he was sober. He would have, and should have, just walked away, waved Chan off with an insincerely polite farewell, but the alcohol gave him a slight boost of confidence. He shrugged and sighed. “Probably. I live just down the street, uh,” he brought one hand to his temple as he blinked, eyeing his surroundings, eventually slinging his right arm up and pointed lazily towards the right, “that way. Somewhere.”

“You've never been a good drunk, have you?” Chan sighed, walking up to Changbin and interlocking his arm with the younger man’s, gently pulling him towards the direction he pointed in.

The brunette shook his head a few times and whined. “What're you doing?”

“Making sure you get home in one piece.”

“You dunno where I live, man.”

Chan tugged Changbin’s arm a bit and sighed. “You said this way, so I'm making sure you go that way. Besides, I live over here, too. It's on the way.”

“The Bushnell Apartments.”

The blonde stopped in his tracks and stared down at his drunken compatriot in shock. “How'd you know?”

“What?” The younger man lazily lifted his head up and knitted his brows together in confusion.

“That's where I live, dude.”

“No,” Changbin scoffed, “you big dummy, that's where _I_ live.”

“Wait a minute,” Chan chuckled inwardly, “you live in the same complex as me?”

“Sounds like it, yeah,” Changbin nodded once, bringing his free arm up to rub the back of his neck, “third floor, room 325.”

“Holy shit. I'm in 324. I wondered who was playing music a few weeks ago when I was moving my stuff in.”

Changbin laughed nervously as the realization that Chan lived so close to him, not only in the same apartment complex, but right next door to him, slapped him in the face. “Fate's a real bastard, innit?”

“What?”

As much as Changbin wanted to say something, a look of discomfort quickly washed over his face. “Oh shit,” came out instead of the quip he was planning on, and he quickly, awkwardly dashed to the curb of the sidewalk, violently emptying the contents of his stomach all over the pavement instead.

A drunken laugh came up from behind him as Chan cackled maniacally. “I knew you were a lightweight.”

♪

The next morning, Changbin woke up and even the most ambient of sounds were painfully louder, every light was uncomfortably brighter. He let out a weak whimper, and curled into himself as the world spun around him. “Goddammit,” he grumbled. “Fuck Jisung and fuck last night. I'm never drinking again.”

As if fate was teasing him, taunting him with how unfair it truly was, there was a knock against the door, the faint rapping pulling him out of his daze. He sighed heavily, rolling over onto his back, coming to terms with the fact that he was going to have to get up in a moment. “Be there in a sec,” he attempted to shout in the most decent, cognizant way possible.

It took Changbin a few moments to reorient himself as the walls spun around him. He stumbled his way through his bedroom, out to the front door, not bothering to look through the peephole. Changbin fumbled with his deadbolt for a moment, scolding himself as he realized he forgot to do the chain-link before he passed out at some point earlier that morning. He pulled the door open, instantly regretting leaving his bed as he saw the man at his door.

“Chan?” He rubbed his eyes and grumbled. “How'd you find out where I live?”

“You told me last night, dude.” The taller man offered a plastic bag around his finger, almost as if it were some sort of physical apology. “Figured you could use some of this, especially since you don't remember all of last night, do you?”

Changbin stepped back, opening his door wide. There was no way he had the energy to yell at Chan, not when the man had brought him food as a peace offering. “I'm still upset with you, you know.”

“You told me last night,” Chan shook his head, tutting in feigned irritation as he took a couple of steps into Changbin’s apartment. “Several times, actually.”

♪

The two of them sat on the couch in awkward silence as they ate their lukewarm, greasy diner takeout. Changbin curled up into a ball, clutching his sports drink to his chest as he rolled his face into the couch cushion. “God, I feel like shit,” he whined. “How are you so okay after all of that? You ended up drinking more than me.”

Chan chuckled. “I was part of a frat, dude,” he took a sip of water from his glass, then set it back down on the table. “Beer was an acceptable substitute for water in Sig Ep. Practically its own food group. Ah,” he stuck a finger in the air and his face turned stoic, “unofficially, of course.”

In all honesty, Changbin never realized that Chan had become such a different person after he went to university. He was still caring and kind, but to picture him as a typical frat boy was jarring. “You still got honours and valedictorian after all that shit?”

“Yep,” the older man clasped his hands together, bringing them behind his head as he leaned back into the couch. “Don't know how I did it, though. Talent probably got me far enough.”

“You were always really good at playing the viola, dude.” The compliment was sincere, Changbin rolling his eyes up to catch the profile of his best friend, staring longer than he should’ve.

Chan turned slightly, sucking in some air through his teeth as he looked at Changbin. “Never as good as you.” His voice was low, like there was something hidden deep under his words.

The two of them were quiet again. Changbin couldn’t help but ruminate on Chan’s words, memories of their constant rivalries and the night of their drunken kiss violently replaying over and over in his head. Chan always wanted to beat Changbin out on one thing, and Changbin was afraid it would cause Chan to look down on him as somehow lesser than.

_Oh._

A sour, queasy feeling rolled up the back of Changbin’s neck as he realized he had probably treated Chan poorly in everything they competed for when he beat him out. How could he have treated his childhood friend so terribly for something so petty and trivial? Changbin had no other friends, not since he and Wooyoung split up, and the loneliness he felt bubbled up in his chest, commingling with how horrible he felt for the way he had treated Chan after all this time.

He should have apologized, too.

“Hey, Bin,” Chan leaned further into the back of the couch, drawing his arm out against the frame and he stared down at his sickly junior. “If I had reached out to you and apologized, do you think you would’ve forgiven me? We said some horrible shit to each other and, honestly, I never thought we’d see each other again. I’m glad we got to see each other after all this time, but I can’t help but think we’d never talk to each other otherwise.”

Changbin couldn’t help but look away, staring off into the tiny chip on his wall next to his calendar. He chewed on his teeth, unable to resist thinking about all of the stupid, petulant rage he felt over their trivial fights. He brought his thumbnail to his teeth and anxiously nibbled at it, honestly unsure if he would’ve forgiven Chan if they didn’t end up in Seattle together after all this time. “I dunno,” he muttered, words coming out with a slight lisp against his nail. “I think you’re probably right. I mean, we hadn’t talked in four years, why start now? What’s the point of resurfacing old wounds just to tear into them?”

A heavy sigh came from Chan as he looked up towards the ceiling. “I guess you’re right. I figured you had everything going perfectly for you. You graduated with a bachelor’s and a master’s degree, were happily engaged, and had just accepted some prestigious job somewhere. You were succeeding and surpassing me in so many ways yet again, and I couldn’t even come to terms with the fact that I—” Chan quickly cut himself off. 

Changbin lifted one of his eyebrows at the sudden silence, turning to look at Chan in confusion. “The fact that you what?”

The blonde shook his head, quickly standing up and brushing his shirt off. “I-it’s nothing.”

“Wait,” Changbin reached out to grab Chan’s arm without thinking, loosely grasping at his thin wrist. “Chan, I know it’s been years, but you can tell me anything.”

“No,” Chan shook his head, refusing to look at Changbin. “I promise, it’s not that important right now.” Almost as if he could sense Changbin opening his mouth to protest, Chan spoke up again. “Look, eat the rest of your food and drink a lot of fluids. We can talk about this all later, I just,” Chan offered a quick smile over his shoulder before he tugged his wrist free of Changbin’s grasp and made his way towards the door, “I can’t talk about it right now. Sorry, man.”

Changbin cursed himself for drinking so much the night prior, his hangover preventing him from chasing after Chan. As much as he wanted to know what Chan was about to say, he figured he would just drop it for now, then press for more information later.

♪

Chan’s _‘talk about all of this later’_ turned into a lot longer than Changbin expected. 

It should have been days, weeks at the most. However, the end of summer resigned itself to Seattle’s torrential autumn rains, the symphony’s first performance of the season came and went, they all worked through their planned Thanksgiving break to finish recording a score for a film with an unbelievably large budget. All of that came and went, and there was still no conversation broader than casual discussion between the two of them.

Every time they passed each other, Changbin’s eyes lingered on the blonde. What was Chan thinking? What was he going to say that caused the energy between them to shift so drastically?

There were polite conversations in passing between Chan and Changbin off and on. Occasionally, they would walk to the practice hall together, but it was by sheer accident, only because they had left their apartments at the same time. Every interaction between them seemed accidental, too pleasantly sterile for what had to have been harbouring beneath the surface.

Autumn bled into winter. Rain turned to sleet, which morphed into snow a few times during January and February. February blended into March. March blossomed into April. More performances, more anxiety, more productions, more nervousness, more expectations, more, more, _more._ More from the symphony, and less, less, less from Chan.

The sleepless nights brought on by extensive late-night practices were tolerable; tired mornings after these were easily remedied with a few cups of coffee. Conversely, the few times Changbin had gone to bed at a reasonable hour, he found himself tossing and turning, restlessly thinking about Chan, unable to sleep. His heart pounded with nervousness, Changbin swearing he could hear his heartbeat echoing against the beige drywall of his bedroom. He reached his fingertips up and brushed them against the wall behind him, where he assumed Chan was laying on the opposite side, peacefully slumbering away.

So close. So far away. Chan was always right there, but so far out of reach.

_I couldn’t even come to terms with the fact that I—_

What exactly was Chan going to say on that day? Months had passed, but Changbin could still hear every syllable that came from Chan’s lips, the way that his tongue punctuated each hard consonant with a staccato against his teeth, haunting his dreams. He could picture the moment that Chan’s expression changed, shifted from ease to uncertainty, how his eyelashes twitched when his eyes went wide with fear.

Late one sleepless April night, Changbin had found himself staring upwards yet again, lost in the grooves and valleys of stucco against his ceiling. His nervousness of the upcoming principal seat exam weighed him down, forcing him to sink further and further into his mattress, heavy with doubt. Earlier that day, Chan stepped back, saying he wasn’t interested in fighting for the position, which Changbin read as neither truth nor fiction. 

“I just want you to have the best chance possible,” Chan had told him with a seemingly fake smile. “You’re so incredibly talented, Bin. You’ve got the leadership skills, and I support you all the way.”

No. Something about that wasn’t right.

Changbin frowned, knitting his eyebrows together as he bit down on his lips. He tried to recall exactly what the expression was on Chan’s face while he said those words with a layer of insincerity. The insincerity was juxtaposed with honesty and pain, so many conflicting and contrasting things said without words.

Then, it hit him.

 _You’re so incredibly talented._ It sounded so familiar, the layered pain and genuine jealousy.

_Never as good as you._

It had been months since Chan told him that, when they were sitting on the couch nursing their hangovers at the beginning of the season. Months had passed, but the words were suddenly so crisp and clear, as if Changbin was right in that moment again.

It wasn’t jealousy. No, it was never jealousy.

In a near panic, Changbin reached out for his phone on his nightstand, bringing it up to his face. The bright light burned his retinas, but it didn’t matter. He started scrolling through Chan’s social media page, down countless months and years, endless photos that started with him in various spots in Seattle, then to his graduation, followed by various frat gatherings and university happenings. 

It was like Changbin was travelling backwards in time, seeing several familiar names and faces pop up, partially reliving the moments he had spent over the years angrily scrolling through his timeline on the nights he where Wooyoung was sleeping soundly next to him. Names that caused Changbin’s stomach to tense with varying degrees of jealousy started popping up with each season he travelled through.

Senior year: Son Chaeyoung, five months.

Junior year: Minatozaki Sana, seven months.

Sophomore year: Im Naeyon, three months. Hirai Momo, two months.

Freshman year: Park Jihyo, two months. Yoo Jeongyeon, two months. 

Changbin recalled all of the people — all of them women — that Chan had dated, how none of them really seemed like they were serious relationships, that they were maybe friends with benefits at most. The photos Chan had taken with them were all stiff and felt rushed, like he was putting on a show that he was happy with them, when he clearly wasn’t genuinely happy.

It wasn’t jealousy. _Of course_ it wasn’t jealousy.

Chan was hiding something, and Changbin’s heart sunk into his stomach as he found himself staring at the ceiling yet again. All he could find himself thinking about now was a single word ruminating, burning into his head.

_Why?_

_♪_

Changbin made sure to leave well in advance prior to the start of the day. He didn’t want to risk running into Chan, not when the principal seat exam was today. He had spent too much time ruminating and worrying over Chan and the what-ifs the night prior, his lack of sleep apparent as his limbs ached with fatigue.

The walk to the practice hall was uneventful; drizzle had languidly fallen from the sky, embedding itself into Changbin’s jacket, temporarily turning the crimson fabric just a few shades darker. After several months, Changbin had gotten used to the nonstop Seattle rain, varying from drizzle to torrential downpours with occasional reprieves of sunshine peppered in throughout the year.

In a way, it was oddly calming. The rain kept people from lingering in the streets too long to chatter, but there was also a stubborn resiliency as people just accepted the downpours. Umbrellas and ponchos were only seen with tourists, people that seemed afraid that the slightest bit of drizzle would cause them to melt. There was an influx of tourists in March, when the cheap cruises up along the coast to Alaska started. With the influx of tourists, there were more and more performances that were crammed into Changbin’s schedule.

Honestly, the transition from March to April seemed so minute, like the drizzle turning to heavy droplets of rain, the rainstorm he constantly found himself in. It was a beautiful time of year, and Changbin hadn’t ever truly appreciated the fact that there were so many varying shades of grey along the spectrum of white to black. 

The transition from August to April seemed to be so subtle, too. Within a few months, the barista at the cafe got better with his name, eventually able to speak it with confidence at about February. Changbin assumed she was flirting with him a few times when she passed his cup to him with various doodles and scribbles on them, but he shrugged it off. 

Today’s cup holding his shot in the dark had a heart next nestled up to his name. Perhaps it would bring good luck for the principal seat exam.

♪

Practice was uneventful, since the entire group was only together for the first half of the day. As the group disbanded into its respective sections for individualized practice, nerves bubbled up in Changbin’s veins as he steeled himself in preparation for the principal seat exam. Seungmin had wished him the most polite “good luck, man,” he could muster, even though they were both competing against each other.

Changbin had been in the middle of practicing his solo piece when a familiar voice pulled him from his concentration.

 _“Fantasia Cromatica?”_ The voice was layered with nervousness and anticipation. 

The brunette sighed, trying to bite back his irritation at the loss of his focus. “Yeah,” he turned his head over his shoulder, eyeing the man that approached him. “Surprised you recognized it, Chan.”

Chan’s hand twitched as he lifted it for a brief second, like he was about to reach out to Changbin. “I’ve eyed that piece several times,” he brought his hand up to the back of his neck, awkwardly chuckling as he stood a respectable distance away from the brunette, “it’s intimidating, but it’s such a well-known viola solo. I guess I’m not surprised you picked something without accompaniment with how independent you are.”

It was supposed to be a compliment, but Chan’s words struck a sour chord within Changbin. The younger man shook his head once, eyeing the floor before he turned to look at the blonde. “I’m trying to practice,” his voice came off harsher than he had meant it to. Chan’s expression fell from nervously optimistic to slightly hurt, and Changbin rolled his eyes with a huff as he tried to pedal backwards. “Look,” he started, making awkward eye contact with Chan for a brief moment, “after I’m done with all of this, can we talk? I’ve got some stuff on my mind I wanna discuss with you.”

Chan looked excited for a moment as he nodded rapidly. “Sure,” he bit back a smile, “yeah, I’ll be here.”

“Thanks,” Changbin half-smiled as he turned back to his sheet music. 

“Good luck, Changbin,” Chan brought his hand up to the brunette’s shoulder, offering a quick, warm squeeze that didn’t last nearly long enough. The slight touch caused Changbin’s breath to hitch in his throat, all of the air around him turning cool as Chan left.

Somehow, the younger man felt revitalized with the well wishes of his friend still lingering on his shoulder and dancing in his ears.

♪

“So,” Minho greeted Changbin with a warm smile as the brunette entered the room. “You’ve decided to audition for the principal viola seat. After the initial chair placements, I didn’t think you would try, in all honesty.” The auburn-haired man smiled, tipping his wire-rimmed frames down his nose slightly, red pen in his hand. 

_Shit._ Nerves lit up all over Changbin as he started to doubt himself, like he wasn’t supposed to be here.

“I’m glad you did.” Almost as if he could sense Changbin’s nervousness, Minho offered kind words in his usual soft, gentle voice. “Listen, I should be clear about something. I specifically sought out both you and Chan, as well as a few others, for this year’s contract placements. I don’t think you recognized me during the interview process, and I’m surprised you didn’t notice after the season started.”

“What?” The brunette cocked his head to the side, eyelids squinting upward in confusion.

Minho set the clipboard down on his desk, leaning forward as he rested his elbows on the table. He interlaced his fingers together and rested his chin on the backs of his hands. “I used to live on the east coast. I was in New Jersey for a while until I moved to Seattle a couple of years ago for this job. You and Chan performed _Lament_ at the state competition in New York a few years ago. I believe you were both juniors back then, correct?”

Changbin’s throat went dry as he recognized Minho from so long ago, feeling somewhat dumb for not realizing it sooner. All those years ago, he was sitting in between two other judges, wearing the same wire-rimmed glasses as he wore today. “Y-yeah,” he stuttered. “That’s right.”

A smile crept up Minho’s face. “You both earned a perfect score, which was a rarity in and of itself, but what really captured me was how well both of you worked, the way you both blended together so naturally, beaming with raw, unadulterated talent. Such balance can’t be taught, only naturally weaved together by fate.”

Uneasiness came over Changbin in waves, like he was about to be judged far more critically than he anticipated.

“Anyway,” Minho brought his hands to his desk and sat back a bit. “The details of it all aren’t important. Just know that I’m happy that you’re both here. I’ll admit, however, that I was disappointed when Chan told me that he wasn’t interested in auditioning for the principal seat.”

A jolt surged up against the length of Changbin’s spine. “What?” He pressed, taken aback, unsure if what he just heard was accurate. “Chan told you he wasn’t interested?”

Minho nodded once. “He told me that, if given the opportunity, you deserved it more than he did, that he believed you were more talented and had the right leadership skills for the position.”

Changbin knitted his brows together. Nervousness had been replaced with a rush of anger. He initially found it odd that Chan wasn’t going to audition for the seat placement, sure, but the fact that he _deliberately_ told Minho that Changbin was more talented and deserved it? That they didn’t even get to have a fair chance of competition between the two of them? 

He felt strangely hurt, like Chan had somehow betrayed him. All for what, a seat placement? Something so trivial, after all these years?

His eyes looked down at his viola, eyeing that familiar chip one more time. The familiar word that echoed against Changbin’s head the night prior was so loud yet again.

_Why?_

♪

Chan was pacing in the hallway when Changbin emerged from Minho’s office. “Hey!” He perked up with a smile on his face. “How’d it go, dude?”

Changbin shook his head, unable to look at Chan. A scowl curled up his lips as he bared his teeth, briskly walking to where his viola’s case rested. Practice was supposed to be for another hour, but he couldn’t bear another minute of being under the same roof as Chan, in the same claustrophobic space as him, not when he was seething with anger.

“Changbin?” Chan’s voice was closer, but quieter than before. “Was it that bad?”

The brunette’s fingers trembled as he shakily rested his viola in its case, eyeing the chip one last time before he slammed his case shut. He didn’t say anything as he made his way over to the instrument lockers, deciding to leave his viola in the practice hall overnight. Chan trailed behind him, his voice growing more and more concerned as Changbin paced away.

“Dude,” Chan pressed, reaching out to grab Changbin’s wrist as he slammed his locker door shut. “What the hell happened? Are you okay?”

“Why?” Changbin wanted to say so much more, but the single syllable was all he could muster.

Chan winced, shaking his head in confusion. “What are you talking—”

“Why didn’t you audition for the principal seat?” His voice was terse, yet was still draped in a layer of fragility. “No, why did you tell Minho you didn’t deserve it? We’re supposed to be rivals, right? Push each other and make ourselves better, like when we were kids. What the fuck happened?”

“Changbin,” the blonde’s composure dropped with his shoulders, a look of pity washing over his face. “I didn’t mean for it to be like that. I just… I didn’t want you to worry about it.”

“Tch, typical. You know, Chan,” the younger man scoffed, rolling his eyes before he stared down the blonde, “I don’t understand you. I’m not some fragile thing that needs to be protected, not by anyone, not by you. I deserved a fair shot at the principal seat placement, I deserved to compete against you, and you just insult me like I had no chance if you competed.”

Chan curled into himself slightly, hurt by Changbin’s words. “I didn’t realize—”

“Of _course_ you didn’t.” Changbin shook his head and spun on his heel, padding off towards the exit in anger. 

After a moment, Chan heard the downpour come through the door as Changbin ran off. He rushed to his locker, grabbing his jacket and his umbrella. “Changbin, wait!”

Seattle rain was never forgiving, especially during spring. The precipitation clattered against the ground at near-torrential speeds, the heavy noise only amplified as it reverberated against the concrete and the walls of nearby buildings.

“Changbin, please,” Chan shouted as the younger man stormed out of the practice hall and into the downpour that enveloped Capitol Hill in a dark haze. He took a few long strides as he chased after the seething brunette.

Changbin spun on his heel, shouting at the top of his lungs as he stared down Chan with wild eyes, his voice barely carrying along the heavy pattering of rain against concrete. “I don’t understand why you keep hiding, Chan! Why did you turn me down all those years ago?”

Chan shook his head, avoiding eye contact as he motioned for Changbin to come back. “Come here, Changbin, get under my umbrella before you get sick.” 

“No!” Changbin shrieked in anger, tears streaming down his face as all of the emotions he had bottled up over the years suddenly erupted all at once. “Do you not understand how much I’ve loved you all these years? Ever since we were kids?”

“Bin, please, I—” The blonde’s shoulders sunk down as he recoiled into himself, eyes darting around as he was frozen in place.

 _“Everything!_ Everything I did was because of you, Chan!” The words burned as they came up from Changbin’s chest, the black lily of nervousness entangling its petals in between the empty spaces of his ribcage. “I put myself through hell to distract me from you, to get all of these thoughts out of my head, to stop fucking thinking about you for _once!”_

Chan was quiet, lips parted as he stared at Changbin in disbelief, tears unknowingly spilling from his eyelids.

The brunette refused to relent, shouting over the Seattle rain. “You were the only person that believed in me. _You_ pushed us to do that duet, even though I thought it was stupid. _You’re_ the reason we got the perfect score. _You_ keep saying that I’m so much more talented than you, that you’d never be as good at me, but _you’ve_ always been the one that’s naturally better at all of this.”

A beat passed between them before Changbin let out an anguished, angry shout. He was so tired of all of the pain and anguish he had felt over the years, and letting it all finally explode after so long, like a rubber band wound up too tightly, felt unnaturally liberating. Regardless of how Chan felt about Changbin after all of these years, he could finally let go of his agony, which was equal parts terrifying and relieving.

“Why? Why the fuck did you never apologize to your best friend, Chan? I have been in absolute fucking misery since you and I kissed so long ago and I don’t think you understand how much I wanted you to be there. How you kept creeping into my thoughts, even after all of these years, all I could think about was you.” 

The blonde advanced, his face pulled into a downward scowl as his footsteps were heavy against the slick concrete. “It’s because I didn’t want to admit something,” Chan spoke in as low of a voice as he could while he pulled Changbin to his chest. “When you kissed me all those years ago, I was terrified about all of the what-ifs that started rushing around in my head. Like, what if I ruin my friendship? What if you’re not actually into me? What happens when I’m not good enough for you? What if I was actually straight and I was going to cause you nothing but pain after all this time?”

“Chan, stop.” Changbin shook his head, bringing his damp hands to Chan’s clammy face, rubbing away the tears that started spilled over, down his chilled cheeks. “You’re always good enough for me. You’re the _only one_ that’s good enough for me; the only one I ever wanted.”

“What?”

“Listen,” the brunette sighed heavily, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders. “Don’t get me wrong, I loved Wooyoung, but, the thing is…”

Chan watched the expressions on Changbin’s face cross a spectrum from confusion, to anguish, to regret.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you, as horrible as it sounds. Sure, we were drunk when we had that one kiss, but it was the best kiss of my life. Hell,” he hiccuped, trying to swallow back tears, “I thought I lost my chance with you forever after high school. So, I settled. Wooyoung was the only other friend I had, and he was interested in me. I took a shot with him and, yeah, we were _fine,_ but it wasn’t anything spectacular. I was ready to settle for a life of mediocrity until he decided he didn’t want to come to Seattle with me. I was finally free of both of you when I got here. I could leave you both behind.”

Changbin brought his forehead down to Chan’s wet shoulder, the fabric squishing against his skin as he rolled around and sighed. “It’s horrible,” he dropped his hands and clutched at the lapels of the blonde’s jacket, pulling himself closer into the older man’s embrace. “I was so glad to be free of both Wooyoung and the ghost of you. So, when I saw you that day at the cafe, it was like all hell had broken loose; everything came rushing back and I was overwhelmed by the weight of my past. I was forced to reconcile with the one person I hurt the most, the one who hurt me the most, and the one I never thought I would be able to forgive.”

A soft chuckle echoed around Chan’s chest as he rested his cheekbone against Changbin’s sopping wet brown hair. “We can’t escape each other.”

“I guess not,” Changbin quietly relented, releasing Chan’s jacket from his grasp, his arms languidly falling to his side in exhaustion. He was tired of being angry for so long, for harbouring such a deep-seated resentment against his best friend, for being mad at himself for never forgiving Chan after all this time over something so minor. So fucking tired. “I’m sorry, Chan. For all of this shit.”

The tapping of Seattle rain against Chan’s umbrella seemed so muted as the men stood up against each other, lost in their little bubble as the world disappeared around them. Nothing else mattered but being warmed by each other. Chan dropped his hand from Changbin’s back for a moment, then brought his fingers up to the underside of Changbin’s chin.

“Changbin,” his voice was timid as he tilted the younger man’s chin upward, both of them making awkward eye contact for a moment. A few drops of rain fell from Changbin’s hair, mingling against the tears that were rolling down his face, the droplets joining to become something greater, a small river down the valley of his cheek. “Even if you don’t forgive me after all this time, I forgive you. We were both idiots back then. What matters is that we’re here now. We can leave everything behind and move forward — together.”

“Together.” Changbin repeated, his voice cracking in between the syllables. He hated feeling so weak, but he couldn’t help it. All of the emotions from the past few years coming up, burning in his chest as the realization that what he yearned for all this time settled. After all this time, he was finally where he felt comfortable, secure, happy, with no strings attached.

Chan.

His arms were warm, a shelter to protect him from the weakness he was feeling. The happiness in his eyes and the bright smile on his face was Changbin’s sunshine during the overcast, dreary Seattle days. 

Chan was home. _His_ home.

The pattering of rain against Chan’s umbrella was suddenly so quiet, a rush of warmth blossomed up from Changbin’s cheeks to the tips of his ears. The black lily of anxiety that rested in between the spaces of his ribcage blossomed from black, to crimson, to a vibrant pink. All of his feelings for Chan became crystal clear, and he couldn’t hold them back any longer.

There was nothing left to lose.

“I love you. Still, after all of this time. I love you so much, Chan.” The words left his lips before he crashed them against Chan’s, much less awkwardly than their kiss so many years ago. His hands reached up to Chan’s blonde locks with a sudden renewed, yearning energy, grasping at the strands and tugging at them as if he would sink into the ground if he let go.

Rain came pouring down all around them as Chan dropped his umbrella, bringing one of his hands down to the small of Changbin’s back, the other hand softly cupping the younger man’s face. “I love you too, Changbin,” he whispered breathlessly as he pulled back for just a split second. Chan brought the brunette closer into his grasp, droplets of rain falling between them, rolling down their faces and in between their lips.

Like Connecticut, Changbin was vivacissimo, as wild as the hustle and bustle of the east coast. Like Seattle, Chan was andante, languid and calming. 

Chan was his home, where Changbin belonged all along.

♫

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked this! Feel free to leave a comment below if you wish. ♡


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